The Strength to Live
by ncfan
Summary: Yoshino always knew what to say, even when Shikamaru didn't want to hear it. Post Sasuke-retrieval mission.


Disclaimer: I don't own Naruto.

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"Your father's already talked to you?"

"Yeah."

"Good."

Nara Shikamaru sat on the island in the kitchen; Yoshino frowned at him as she wiped down the table. "Get off the island, Shikamaru; there are chairs, you know." She was neither as loud nor as annoyed as usual.

Yoshino scrubbed harder, frowning down at the table. It just wouldn't shine enough for her. "How are Choji and Hyuuga Neji?"

Shikamaru's face tightened. It was an expression Yoshino had seen many times before, but she was more used to seeing it on the scarred, grizzled face of her husband, not the unmarked, still soft face of her son. She recognized it, and cast a sharp eye out the window. It had been raining, but the rain had stopped and the sun shone, mercifully without humidity.

"They're…better now." Shikamaru started to fidget with his broken finger. "They'll be able to leave the hospital in a few days."

The Nara matriarch nodded, and stopped polishing for a moment, bracing her hands on the table before realizing that it was the detachable part she was leaning on, and moved her hands to the solid area. "That's good. And what about the other two who were hurt? Inuzuka Kiba and…what was his name…Uzumaki Naruto?"

"They'll be able to leave in a few days. Naruto's already trying to sneak out, but Shizune-san always catches him before he can get too far." Shikamaru's voice never fluctuated from emotionless.

Yoshino knew something was wrong. Usually, he showed some emotion, even if it was only disdain or grim, sarcastic humor. Usually, Shikamaru didn't fidget in his seat. Usually, Shikamaru slouched a bit more.

There _was_ something wrong, and as Shikamaru's mother, Yoshino felt it was her duty to find out what. And she would find out, no matter how far she had to dig and how angry or uncomfortable she made her son.

"What did you father say to you?" Yoshino asked abruptly. That was where she would start, at the beginning.

Shikamaru gritted his teeth. "I'd really rather not—"

"_Shikamaru_."

The young chunin shook his head irritably. "I'd have to tell you what that girl from the Sand village said to me first."

Yoshino glared at him fiercely. "Then tell me. Stop circumventing."

"She told me, basically to grow up, and that there was always going to be a risk with high-ranking missions. As a retort, I told her that if that was the case, then maybe I just wasn't cut out to be a shinobi."

Yoshino made sure Shikamaru couldn't see her rolling her eyes. She continued to scrub fiercely at the table, the threads of the rag starting to fray a bit; she didn't notice.

"Then, I ran into Dad. Turned out he had heard the whole thing. He basically told me the same thing as her, and told me that—" Shikamaru paused, suddenly breathing hard "—no matter what I did, there were going to be times when fellow shinobi wouldn't come back from missions.

"He told me that people were going to die, and I couldn't stop it no matter how much I wanted to. And he said that my presence on the battlefield could sometimes determine the difference between if a comrade lived or died.

"He told me that there would be people who died on my watch, and that if I wasn't willing to live with it, then I shouldn't be a shinobi."

Yoshino stopped scrubbing. She stared out the wide, clear glass doors that led to the back deck where Shikaku and Shikamaru would spend their evenings playing shogi. The tone of Shikamaru's voice gave her pause. Intense bitterness saturated the air from where Shikamaru sat at the bar stool against the island. His elbows were propped on the surface, and he stared down at the polished wood surface with opaque eyes that only let out darkness.

She tipped her head to the side slightly, as though viewing him from a different angle would show him in a whole new light. It didn't. Shikamaru remained exactly the same, and Yoshino's neck started to hurt.

She frowned as her fingers ran across the surface of the table, fingertips to rich, light wood. Then she smiled slightly, a pained, wise smile. "They're both right."

Shikamaru cast a sharp look at her. "What?"

Yoshino's smile showed teeth; it hurt to see her son hurting, but Yoshino wasn't one for sparing feelings and Shikamaru needed to learn that lesson _now._ "The girl from the Sand village was right. There's always a risk when you run missions. And if she told you to grow up, she's from Suna, did you expect her to go easy on you?

"Shikaku isn't always the best at expressing his thoughts in words—something you inherited from _his_ side of the family—but he meant what he told you. Like it or not, Shikamaru, your intelligence and your ability as a strategist and tactician means that most likely there will be a day when you send shinobi out to certain death."

"But I don't want to send people out to die!" Shikamaru's voice rose, his mask breaking. "I don't want that on my head!"

Yoshino smiled again and sat beside him. "Of course you don't. No sane shinobi ever does. But if you make it long enough that you're in the position to be sending people into hopeless battles, you'll either have to learn to live with it or lose your mind entirely. It's your choice."

Despite what everyone thought and Shikamaru's more amicable relationship with his father, Yoshino knew her son far better than Shikaku did. It was the way of mothers and sons; fathers had the privilege of knowing their daughters better than their wives did, but Shikamaru wasn't a girl and Yoshino was his mother. She knew far better than Shikaku what would get to him, crack him wide open and allow him to get to the root of the problem.

Shikamaru stared at her, a truly rare, utterly shocked look adorning his face. Yoshino found it a refreshing change; one of her men folk wasn't trying to be "smart" with her for once.

"Mom?" Shikamaru's voice was shaking. "How do I learn to live with it?" His eyes were wide and round; he almost seemed on the verge of tears.

Yoshino reached over and grasped his shoulder tightly. "We all die, Shikamaru. The only thing that's different is the time and manner of our deaths. When one of your comrade dies—"when", not "if"—if you remember that, you'll be alright in the end. I can't guarantee that you'll ever stop regretting their death. And I can't tell you that you'll ever stop dreaming of their face at night. But you'll be alright."

Shikamaru looked down, his eyes narrowed in what suspiciously resembled sadness. "That doesn't make me feel any better. And that's not a complete answer."

Her grip on his shoulder tightened. "Life doesn't give you any complete answers. You just have to figure them out on your own."


End file.
